


Playing With Fire

by Lorelle



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Body Swap, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Crowley's Statue (Good Omens), Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Footnotes, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Making an Effort (Good Omens), Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Apocalypse, Post-Bus Ride (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Romance, Soulmates, Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-27 15:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19793527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorelle/pseuds/Lorelle
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale head home from Tadfield. But what does home mean to them now? They need to address their feelings for each other. And with the threat of retribution from their respective Head Office’s hanging over their heads, they need to think up a new plan and quick.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is actually my very first post on AO3, as well as my first time in 10 years writing fanfiction. This show straight up yanked my fangirl ass out of hibernation and wouldn't let me rest until I got this story out. I have read the book, but this story relies more on the show canon. It picks up directly after the Armage-didn't, before Aziraphale and Crowley's body swap. It's rated explicit, but things don't really get NSFW until Chapter 4. Click on the bracketed numbers to read the footnotes, then click again to return to the text. I hope you all enjoy this!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr here: [aplusbabe](https://aplusbabe.tumblr.com/)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale head home from Tadfield. But what does home mean to them now? They need to address their feelings for each other. And with the threat of retribution from their respective Head Offices hanging over their heads, they need to think of a new plan and quick.

“Like Agnes said, we’re going to have to choose our faces wisely…” Crowley said, raising one hand out towards the bus. The bus, still flashing “Oxford City Centre,” on the front, screeched to a standstill in front of them. Aziraphale and Crowley stood up. Crowley rolled his shoulders and slurped the last of the liquid from the wine bottle, then chucked it into a bin nearby[1]. Aziraphale gave one last look around at the village of Tadfield and the church behind them. Lights twinkled in the windows of the cottages and a delicious breeze blew through the trees, rustling the branches. Even at night, the village was quaint and idyllic, pretty as a postcard. There seemed to be more air than usual, cool and heavy, pressing down on them, as though the atmosphere itself knew that it was on borrowed time. A cricket chirped happily somewhere close by.

The summer night air cooled his skin and the wine slithered through his veins, warming them and leaving him lightheaded. Aziraphale hoped he would be able to visit again someday, preferably without the threat of imminent doom hanging over him. He quite enjoyed the feeling of love that poured out of Adam Young and covered the town like a warm blanket. It would be quite nice to spend more time in such a welcoming climate. Perhaps with Crowley…

Crowley and Aziraphale boarded the bus and moved towards the back. It was dim inside and a sleepy silence enveloped the interior. The bus was mostly empty. The few humans on board were absorbed in their electronic devices. Crowley slid into a window seat, managing to splay out even in a cramped bus seat. For a second, Aziraphale hesitated. He’d ridden on buses plenty of times before with Crowley, and they never sat together. It was always one behind, one in front, or sitting on opposite sides of the aisle. Keeping up appearances, in case Above or Below happened to be watching. They most certainly weren’t watching right now.

Aziraphale pictured the chaos likely unfolding in Heaven at this moment. Ten million angels filled with righteous fury, wound as tight as bowstrings, begging to strike. Gabriel trying to talk them all down, while he himself longed to throw the first punch[2]. Aziraphale found that if he listened hard enough, he could hear the heavenly uproar. He gave his head a small shake, trying to clear the image. What was happening up there was no longer his concern. He wasn’t on their side anymore. He was on his own side. His and Crowley’s. He sat down next to the demon.

“What happens now?” Aziraphale whispered.

“I expect we’ll be hearing from them soon. Once they’ve cooled off a bit. We’ll need some sort of plan but I bet…we’ve at least got tonight,” Crowley murmured back.

There were a few moments of silence. Aziraphale’s human body, though technically only hours old, felt ancient and heavy. He wanted to lie down, to sleep and sleep and sleep, maybe for a decade. He didn’t feel the need to sleep very often. The more tedious parts of being human were easy to get along without. But now, he wanted nothing more than to sink into the soft, warm, quilt-covered bed in his flat above the bookstore. With a cold feeling in his stomach, he remembered that it was gone. His home, his haven, his passion, his _books_ , erased. Burnt to a crisp. Ashes. It hurt to dwell on it; the loss felt like someone striking him in the chest with a mallet. He cast his mind around for a safer topic. A memory swam to the surface—Crowley was there when it burned. Crowley had rescued the Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter for him.

“You, ah, said earlier that you didn’t go to Alpha Centauri…because you lost your best friend?” Aziraphale asked, thinking back to when he returned to Earth and found Crowley drunk in a pub. The terrifying freedom of being a racing, bodiless, ethereal _presence_ wasn’t something he cared to dwell on either. It was like going down a very steep hill on a velocipede[3] with no brakes and a dreadful amount of sharp rocks waiting at the bottom.

“Who were you talking about? If— if you don’t mind talking about it, that is.” It occurred to Aziraphale that losing a close friend, a _best_ friend might be too hard for Crowley to talk about. Even though they had triumphed today, Crowley had lost. Aziraphale wanted to help him, but the demon wasn’t one to share his personal life even at the best of times. When asked about his holiday plans, or his favorite film[4], Crowley’s preferred answer was a withering stare and a change of subject.

Aziraphale tried to think of Crowley ever mentioning a friend, or seeing Crowley spend time with someone else, ever. He could recall no one. He would have remembered if the demon was…what was the term he had once used? _Fraternising._ He would have remembered because he wouldn’t have liked it. They were Earth’s two constants. There since the beginning and present for every moment afterward. Thwarting each other (or, rather, making sure _something_ got thwarted) for 6,000 years. Other angels and demons would occasionally pop in for a while, perform some miracles or wreak some havoc, then bugger off back to Head Office. But it was Crowley and Aziraphale who remained year-after-year, millennia-after millennia. Crowley was _his…_ his responsibility to thwart, at the very least.

Aziraphale sensed a brief hesitation from the demon. Then Crowley rolled his head over to look at Aziraphale. His gaze managed to be piercing from behind his sunglasses.

“I was talking about you, angel,” Crowley said, “I thought you died in the fire. I thought you were gone.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, stunned into silence. He adjusted to the information for a few moments. His buzz had vanished. He was suddenly wide awake, all thoughts of sleep forgotten. Aziraphale looked away, trying not to let his face betray the shock he was feeling and utterly failing. The feeling that enveloped him then was something like reaching into a nearly-empty packet of crisps and finding one large, magnificent, fully intact crisp right down at the bottom. A sort of surprise mixed with delight. Over the centuries, there had been moments when he had suspected the demon felt something for him. Something that certainly did not appear to be in line with the Great Plan. He’d always brushed it off, ignored it because it couldn’t be true…could it?

_We can run away together…Alpha Centauri!_

Crowley’s voice echoed in Aziraphale’s head. He recalled Crowley dashing up to him on the street, desperation flooding from him, pleading for the angel to come with him. Best friends? Was that what they were? It sounded to Aziraphale simultaneously too sappy and too limited a term for what they were.

In spite of his doubts, a familiar, warm, swelling feeling erupted in Aziraphale's chest. He recognized it as the feeling he shoved aside whenever Crowley gave him one of _those_ looks or did something decidedly non-demonic. It had started showing up in 1793 after Crowley had rescued him from the guillotine in Paris. Over the years, it had only gotten stronger. When Crowley had saved him from the Nazi spies in 1941, Aziraphale had had to take a few moments to wrestle the feeling back down into the dark and rarely visited recesses of his mind. But sometimes Aziraphale still replayed the moment their hands had touched as Crowley had handed him the miraculously unharmed books. It had been so difficult to ignore because Aziraphale was not in the business of denying himself pleasure. And touching Crowley was the finest pleasure he’d felt.

Of course, he had never permitted himself to give any real thought to his feelings for Crowley. They terrified him. Though he had never heard a rule in as many words as “Thou shalt not have warm, fuzzy feelings about demons, no matter how good they look in black,” he was still pretty sure it wasn’t allowed. Being a big one for following rules, Aziraphale had steadfastly resisted the emotions that appeared whenever Crowley did. It was too dangerous.

Was it still dangerous? Did he still have Heaven and Hell and _falling_ to fear? Did being on their own side mean they were free from the rules that had dictated their relationship[5] for 6,000 years?

Bugger it. Bugger it all. Bugger the Great Plan, bugger Heaven and Hell, bugger the Almighty Herself.

Aziraphale was too tired to push it away any more. He took a deep breath and, praying ardently for forgiveness, let go. The warmth spread throughout his chest, radiating through the rest of his body. He reveled in it, breathing a sigh of relief as the feeling blossomed for the first time. Aziraphale knew all about love—he was an angel after all. He loved everything, he had to. If you had asked him an hour ago whether he loved Crowley, the answer would have been, “Of course, I love all God’s creatures, big and small.” Asking him if he was _in_ love with Crowley would have gotten you a surprised sputtering and a sort of, “Well, I-I really…I mean, it’s not as though…w-why are you asking exactly?”

If you asked him now, the answer would simply be, “Yes.”

A small smile crossed his lips. He chanced a glance at Crowley. The demon had returned to staring out the window, brooding. Aziraphale longed to touch him, to show him that he was through with being afraid and holding back. In a movement that felt as natural as breathing, Aziraphale leaned his head onto Crowley’s shoulder. Never having leaned his head on someone’s shoulder before, Aziraphale was unsure of what would happen next. But he had seen many humans do it and it always seemed to go well for them. He worried for a moment that this time it was _he_ who was going too fast. Mental images flashed by of Crowley flinching away, or standing up and shouting at him or laughing at his show of sentimentality.

Incredibly, the demon did not do any of that. Instead, he leaned his head over to rest on top of Aziraphale’s. In the same breath, Crowley laid his hand on Aziraphale’s knee. Wherever their bodies touched, he felt little points of heat. Like a recently blown out match was being pressed to his skin. It didn’t hurt. In fact, it was thrilling. Every bit as enjoyable as the first sip of Chateau Lafitte, or the first bite of a sushi roll dripping with soy sauce. Aziraphale’s breath caught. The feeling in his chest threatened to overwhelm him, to overflow his measly human body and explode with all the intensity of a star. Instead of screaming and bursting out of his skin, he managed to redirect the sudden energy into his hand, which he wrapped around Crowley’s. He heard Crowley swallow loudly, but he didn’t speak. Crowley’s skin was cool to the touch, belying the heat created under Aziraphale’s skin wherever they were connected.

Holding Crowley’s hand was like holding a snake. There was something about the feeling of the muscles and tendons flexing under Crowley’s skin that whispered _power._ Each tiny movement had incredible strength behind it. When Crowley’s muscles and tendons flexed Aziraphale could feel the raw force contained just in the demon’s hands. A thought zipped across his mind of those hands wrapped around other parts of him.

They had touched before. Of course they had. 6,000 years is a long time to know someone and accidental contact is bound to occur. Fingers brushing as they passed a bottle of wine back and forth in the bookshop. Aziraphale lightly touching Crowley’s shoulder to get his attention in a crowded marketplace. Crowley clapping a hand on Aziraphale’s back as thanks after Aziraphale covered a temptation for him. Hands bumping as they walked side-by-side down a busy Paris street. This was different. They had never touched like this before—purposefully, directly, with an intent that said, _you are mine._

Neither of them said a word. The bus drove on.

Emanating from Crowley was another familiar feeling. Aziraphale had caught a burst of it the very first time they met, on the Eastern Gate of Eden. Aziraphale had told Crowley that he gave away his flaming sword and the flash of feeling had shown up almost at once. Over the millennia, he continued to sense sparks of that peculiar emotion. Not every time they spent time together, but nearly. Aziraphale had never been able to categorize the feeling. It just didn’t come through to him clearly enough. At first he had thought it was an expression of surprise. Then, he thought perhaps it was irritation or nervousness. Sometimes he thought it was Crowley’s latent angelic energy trying to flicker to life (he didn’t believe that one could completely stop being an angel once you were one). He couldn’t call it anything for sure, but he did know that it was quite a powerful feeling. The demon’s emotions were difficult for Aziraphale to pick up, being too different from his own or those of humans. Though if he was honest, he preferred Crowley’s muted emotions to the vicious and cruel feelings that humans sometimes expelled. He had never felt anything from Crowley as terrible as the things they thought up.

The feeling he was getting from Crowley right now was rather more like fire than the radiant warmth Aziraphale felt. No longer a mere spark, but a raging wildfire. A sort of burning, a longing for…what? He had often gotten the sense that it was a feeling Crowley tried to ignore as well, judging from how fleeting the emotions were when Aziraphale was able to sense them at all. He did not seem to be ignoring the feeling now. It grew around them, inflating like a balloon, crackling in the air as reality acclimated to something entirely new. The humans didn’t notice or were very good at politely ignoring it. Aziraphale and Crowley remained very still, both trying to adjust to experiencing the feeling fully for the first time. Something was changing, shifting, and it felt permanent.

* * *

Crowley was burning. If any of the humans on the bus had spared him a glance, they would have seen nothing out of the ordinary, but inside, Crowley was ablaze. The feeling of the angel’s head resting against his shoulder had him ready to combust. Crowley wasn’t sure if it was due to the intense joy and relief that was filling him up, or because demons were not supposed to feel things like this. Amusement? Sure. A smug sort of giddiness when an act of temptation had been accomplished? Spot on. An encompassing, passionate desire to spread dissent and discord? Bob’s your uncle.

But _love?_ Surely that wasn’t allowed, or even _possible._ Demons were solitary creatures. They didn’t get lonely. They didn’t fall in love. They might occasionally socialize and work together when need be, but the majority of a demon’s life was spent alone. Most of them preferred it that way. Yet when Aziraphale intertwined their fingers, Crowley knew he would never be content to be alone again. He rather thought he must know what a dying star felt like before it collapsed into a supernova. He had never felt so ethereal and so heartbreakingly _human._ Just two people, sitting side-by-side, holding hands as though it didn’t mean a thing, as though the cosmos weren’t shifting around them and the very laws of nature were not being defied. A feeling he had tried to suppress a thousand times seared through his body. Crowley didn’t have the strength to stop it. Didn’t want to stop it. He wanted to finally give in and actually let himself feel the way he had been pretending he didn’t for 6,000 years. He was in love with Aziraphale. It was impossible, and it was true.

The thought of his body being consumed by fire reminded him of the fury he had been able to distantly perceive exuding from Hell for the past few hours. He’d been doing his best to ignore the faint war cries because it was really just a huge bummer and he’d rather be in the moment with the angel next to him. But it couldn’t be ignored forever. Sooner or later, Hell would stop lamenting the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t and start looking for revenge. They would come for him and Crowley could see no way to stop them. They would torture him, they would torture _both_ of them, probably even using holy water and hellfire to get rid of them once and for all. He wouldn’t be parted from Aziraphale without a fight, but maybe it didn’t have to come to that. Maybe there was a way they could still escape with their lives.

Crowley pondered Agnes’s final prophecy, the scrap of paper upon which it was inscribed tucked safely in his pocket.

_When alle is fayed and all is done, ye must choofe your faces wisely, for soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre._

It was no great mystery what would happen to Aziraphale if he were to play with hellfire. He wouldn’t just be discorporated, his soul, his very essence would be destroyed. He would be gone, forever. Crowley’s mind shied away from that possibility. Aziraphale had _always_ been there, somewhere in the world, doing good deeds, hoarding his books, and helping souls find their way to Heaven. The idea of Earth without him…it was enough to make Crowley’s chest feel as though it were being ripped in two. He wished fiercely that there was a way to protect him, protect them both…

The bus wound its way through the countryside, which eventually gave way to the hustle and bustle of London. Crowley couldn’t help noticing as they pulled onto the motorway that the M25 was no longer on fire. The burnt shells of thousands of cars seemed to transform before his very eyes. Chassis reformed, headlights flickered back on, the upholstery was sewn back together. People who had been vaporized in the blaze were abruptly alive again. They sat behind the wheels of their cars, worrying about what was for dinner, or thinking about their jobs, as though nothing unusual had happened. The traffic started to move and in what seemed like no time at all, the bus was grinding to a halt beneath Crowley’s flat.

As the brakes creaked, Crowley lifted his head and looked at Aziraphale. Holding his breath, Aziraphale looked back at him. This was a defining moment. They could part ways here, try to forget what had just transpired silently between them. They could go back to being work colleagues, work out a plan for dealing with Heaven and Hell later, in public somewhere, in broad daylight. Perhaps over crepes.

“Are you coming in?” Crowley asked, his voice a murmur.

_Or…_

Aziraphale stared into the slitted eyes he could just barely make out behind the sunglasses and nodded. He half-expected the action to be accompanied by the sensation of his wings burning and whatever else went along with falling from grace.[6] When nothing of the sort happened, Aziraphale was more than a little shocked.

Their hands separated as they stood and exited the bus, the expansive feeling of _love_ following them as they went. As they stepped into the night, the bus driver peered through the windscreen in confusion. He was sure he had meant to drive to Oxford…

The streetlights shimmered on the wet, empty London street. It was late, long after midnight. Normally, in this part of Soho on a Saturday night, the street would be filled with late-night revelers. Music would be spilling out of the pubs. The humans would be drunk and laughing as they traipsed up and down the block, enjoying each other’s company in loud, raucous groups or quiet pairings. Sometimes Crowley would look out of his penthouse windows and watch the couples hold hands, steal kisses, fall in love. He used to roll his eyes at their mawkish displays but tonight, for the first time, he rather thought he understood the appeal.

This evening, the streets were deserted. Crowley could sense many human souls around, sheltered in their flats. They were sitting closer to one another than they would normally, aware on some level that something terrible had been avoided, that they were all being given a second chance of sorts. They _knew_ what had happened, and they didn’t. Every moment, the knowledge was slipping away like water through cupped hands, like a dream after waking.

Crowley and Aziraphale’s breath misted in front of them, swirling around their heads in the crisp air. Above them, clouds were clearing to reveal a patchwork of stars glimmering faintly. Aziraphale stopped and looked upward, feeling sure that there used to be more stars up there. Millenia ago, he had helped to create a few of them. Probably it was just the city lights drowning them out. He lowered his gaze back to earth and his eyes fell on Crowley, who was waiting on the sidewalk, looking at him expectantly. It must have been a trick of the streetlight, a car driving past, a shooting star, _something_ , but Aziraphale swore Crowley was shining brighter than any star he’d ever seen.

Crowley held out his hand. Aziraphale took it and they headed up to Crowley’s flat.

[1] The bin hadn’t existed until Crowley wanted to throw away the wine bottle. Why he didn’t simply miracle the wine bottle out of existence was a mystery to Aziraphale, the bin, and the wine bottle itself.

[2] Metaphorically speaking. It wouldn’t be a punch so much as a torrent of cosmic energy that would reduce everything in its path to specks of stardust.

[3] bicycle

[4] Crowley’s favorite film is Mary Poppins but he’ll fall again before he admits it.

[5] for lack of a better term. How do you describe someone who knows you better than any other soul in existence, who has saved your life repeatedly, but who is meant to be your eternal, hereditary enemy? What do you call the person meant to be the thorn in your side, yet is more akin to fingertips brushing your cheek, or a candle on a dark night?

[6] Aziraphale had never been able to bring himself to ask Crowley how it felt to fall. “Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven” jokes aside, it seemed too personal a question.


	2. Chapter 2

It was quiet inside, and neither of them was particularly eager to break the silence. They lingered in the doorway for a moment, contemplating human “coming home” activities like removing their coats and shoes. They both came to the conclusion that remaining fully clothed was the best course of action for now. Crowley moved into his living room and Aziraphale followed. He tossed his sunglasses onto a white leather couch that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Turning his head over his shoulder, he spoke to a point about five feet to Aziraphale’s left.

“Can I get you something, angel? Tea? Wine? Scotch?”

“Right, um. Scotch, I think sounds appropriate,” Aziraphale managed to stammer out. Crowley disappeared down the hall into what must have been the kitchen.

Aziraphale cast his gaze around the large, minimally decorated room. Somehow in all the years that Crowley had lived here, Aziraphale had never set foot inside. Their social visits were usually conducted at the bookshop, or in public. A thousand little moments ran through his head. Feeding[1] the ducks in St. James’s park, watching in the Globe Theatre as a young man absolutely butchered _Hamlet_ , watching the humans take their first hesitant steps into the world.

Aziraphale felt a strange sense of familiarity looking around Crowley’s living room, something tugging at his memory. There was an ornate desk upon which sat a haphazard stack of papers, an answering machine, and a small globe. A chair, although the more appropriate word was “throne,” was pushed up to the desk. Hanging on the wall was a sketch of the Mona Lisa that Aziraphale recognized as the original. A television screen that did not appear to be hooked up to anything suddenly flickered to life when Crowley lazily waved a hand in its direction. No books. No creature comforts. No photos. Only a very few personal touches. He realized with a start why this setup was so familiar.

_It’s just like Heaven._

The walls were grey rather than pristine, angelic white. _But,_ Aziraphale thought with a smile, _that’s what Crowley is._ That’s what they both were, now that he considered it. No longer were they black and white, good and evil, Heaven and Hell. They were the grey space in between.

Aziraphale walked over to the desk and glanced down the hallway to make sure Crowley wasn’t coming back. He looked at the stack of papers sitting on the edge. Pictures of planets and nebulas with short descriptions adorned the pages. Crowley must have been trying to figure out the best place to run to, to escape the wrath of Hell. A picture of Alpha Centauri rested on top. Aziraphale wondered if they should still run. Armageddon had been avoided for the moment, but did that mean they were safe? Somehow he doubted it. He lifted the picture of Alpha Centauri and set it to the side. The image underneath was the moon. Aziraphale stifled a laugh, imagining himself and Crowley standing around on the moon in bulky spacesuits and helmets, watching as the forces of Heaven and Hell waged war on each other.

The sound of Crowley’s footsteps in the hall made Aziraphale jump. He quickly walked to the couch and sat down, pretending to be very interested in the television. It was a late-night news broadcast that was recounting the strange events of the past few days. The Kraken, reports of flying saucers, the still unexplained missing nuclear reactor, and, of course, the M25 fire.

“…New reports coming that the fire on the M25 has been put out and the damage is less severe than initially thought. The cars that were this afternoon trapped on the motorway have suffered no damage and traffic is once again moving. Motorists are advised to use caution—”

“What’s the explanation, then?” Crowley said, crashing onto the couch beside Aziraphale (landing quite close to him, actually, Aziraphale noted). He handed him a crystal glass filled halfway with an amber liquid. “Mass hysteria? Practical joke? Hallucinogens in the water supply?”

“Seems they’re going with mass hysteria,” Aziraphale replied. He accepted the glass and took a sip from it. The scotch burned down his throat, reminding him of the heat he had felt streaming from Crowley on the bus. The same heat was still radiating out of him, warming the very air around them. He noticed that he didn’t have to work as hard as he usually did to feel what Crowley was feeling. It was almost like Crowley was shouting at him. Aziraphale’s hand twitched toward Crowley and then stilled.

“Shame. Would have loved to see who would stand up and take credit for this if they said it was a practical joke,” Crowley said. Crowley raised his own glass to his lips and drank the whole glass down in one gulp. The news broadcast moved on to other topics and Aziraphale feigned interest while studying Crowley out of the corner of his eye.

Aziraphale noted yet another difference between them. Where Aziraphale was inclined to take his time, to savor his earthly pleasures, to think things through before he acted, Crowley was a whirlwind of action. Always moving, always thinking, always going a little too fast. Aziraphale was struck with a wild impulse to run, to sprint, to hit the accelerator, to make the jump to lightspeed. He wanted to catch up to Crowley and run alongside him, instead of stumbling along behind as he had for millennia. His hands were once again filled with that strange energy that pushed him to reach out and touch Crowley’s smooth, cool skin. He managed to keep his hands to himself, clutching his glass as though it were a lifeline thrown to a man fallen overboard into a rough sea. A few minutes, or perhaps hours, passed and they sat in silence, Aziraphale sipping his scotch, both angel and demon lost in thought.

Crowley was sitting close enough to touch. He was spread out as usual, one arm slung across the back of the couch, his fingers mere inches away from Aziraphale’s shoulders. His legs had fallen open, one hand resting on his black denim-covered thigh[2]. Crowley drew in a quiet breath and Aziraphale turned to look into his sharp, yellow eyes, just as Crowley spoke in a low voice.

“I’ve been thinking about Agnes’s last prophecy,” he said, holding Aziraphale’s gaze. Part of him was aware that Crowley had snapped his fingers at the television and the volume had obediently lowered. Aziraphale had to clear his throat before he could speak.

“Oh?” The eye contact was too intense. Aziraphale’s eyes flitted away, to the television, to the floor, the cup in his hand. He took another sip of his drink for something to do.

“I think it means we need to switch bodies.”

Aziraphale choked on the scotch, inhaling it into his lungs and coughing violently. Crowley gave him a few firm slaps him on the back while Aziraphale struggled to breathe. After a few moments, he managed to suck in a shuddering breath, looking anywhere but at Crowley. He felt Crowley’s snake-like eyes surveying him. When he was sure he wasn’t going to discorporate from asphyxiation, he finally turned to meet Crowley’s eyes.

“What, um, how…how do you mean?”

Crowley shrugged and gestured vaguely in the direction of the front door.

“Well, think about it. Heaven and Hell will most likely show up on our doorstep in the morning, out for blood. They’re probably going to destroy us with hellfire and holy water and I would _really,”_ he reached out with his hand and smoothed down one of Aziraphale’s white curls, “prefer that not happen.” His voice, which had started out strong and confident, had gone gentle by the end. Aziraphale, who had stopped breathing the moment Crowley’s hand had moved, processed that for a moment. Crowley had let his hand fall back to rest on his thigh and the sudden absence of Crowley’s skin on his was almost physically painful. Eyes wide, he nodded his head once.

“Me, as well. So, you’re suggesting—?”

“We switch. I take over your body, you take over mine. Let them try to destroy us. Hellfire won’t do my soul any harm, just like holy water won’t hurt you.”

Aziraphale thought about that for a moment.

“Well, I…it—it does seem rather…,” he cast his mind around for the right word, “ _intimate._ ”

His cheeks had gone pink at the prospect of inhabiting Crowley’s body, feeling the shape of him from the inside out, maybe even seeing what lay beneath his fashionable[3] clothes. He swallowed and moved on from that train of thought.

“So we…we switch and then what?”

“Then we… talk our way through the rest?” said Crowley, sounding very much as though he was making it up as he went along.

“Lie, you mean,” said Aziraphale, folding his arms across his chest.

“Now is not the time to get high and mighty. This is about survival, angel. Besides, it’s just lying to demons and that’s not really a sin, is it?”

“I suppose not,” Aziraphale grumbled, trying to think of another excuse.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, thinking again of their conversation in the bar earlier that day. “Are you even sure we _can_ switch bodies? Angel? Demon? Are you sure we won’t…” he trailed off then made an explosion gesture with his hands. Crowley retracted his arm from around Aziraphale and propped his chin in his hand.

“Do you really think that’s still what we are?”

“I don’t know, Crowley! Rather a dangerous thing to gamble on.”

“Got any better ideas?” Crowley said, one eyebrow raised, “Got one single better idea?”

Aziraphale huffed, recalling that he had said the exact same words to Crowley just a few days before. He pursed his lips, staring at his glass as though it would magically reveal a better plan.

A charged silence fell. Crowley stared at Aziraphale (who was staring just as intently at the glass in his hands), willing him to agree. Aziraphale could feel the wordless plea radiate out from Crowley and he knew somehow that no matter how much Crowley wanted Aziraphale to agree, he would go along with whatever the angel decided. Just like he knew Crowley would never have actually gone to Alpha Centauri without him. Aziraphale thought about the demon next to him, how calm and self-assured he always seemed to be. His opposite in yet another way. Aziraphale couldn’t remember ever feeling as at ease as the demon looked to be even now, when they were discussing plans to survive the terrible wrath of two powerful cosmic forces. Despite what they were (exactly what they were Aziraphale suddenly wasn’t sure) and what they were up against, Aziraphale trusted Crowley. Trusted him, quite literally, to the ends of the Earth.

“Well…alright. Yes, let’s do it,” Aziraphale said, slapping his knee and turning to smile at Crowley. A victorious grin had spread over Crowley’s face before Aziraphale had even spoken. Crowley must have sensed Aziraphale’s resolve harden, felt him _choose_ Crowley. His eyes were bright with excitement. He ruffled Aziraphale’s hair and Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat.

“There’s a lad! Right! Shall we get on with it?”

“What—now?” squeaked Aziraphale, “I thought you said…don’t we at least have until morning?”

“No time like the present, angel,” his voice low and rough.

Crowley was reaching towards him and Aziraphale was overcome with panic. This was all happening rather fast. The outsides of their legs were now pressed together and Crowley’s arm was curled around, but not quite touching, Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Wait,” he said firmly. Crowley waited, studying him. Did Crowley _always_ look at him like that? He had noticed that Crowley often seemed to be staring at him, but with the dark glasses, it was hard to tell just where he was looking. Aziraphale suspected now that he had been missing some passionate looks, all because he thought Crowley was staring at his tie, or a tree behind him, or simply just staring at nothing in particular while he thought. Aziraphale took a deep, steadying breath.

“Before…I mean, are we not even going to discuss the…” he couldn’t finish the thought. Crowley raised both eyebrows, still waiting.

“The—the…you know…on the bus,” Aziraphale managed, closing his eyes and wincing at the embarrassment of it all. This was ridiculous. Angels are not prone to embarrassment[4] and Aziraphale found he did not enjoy the feeling in the slightest. A cool touch under his chin snapped his eyes open. Crowley had reached one finger out to him and was now smoothly turning Aziraphale’s face to look at him.

“Aziraphale, I have been waiting to hold your hand for 6,000 years,” Crowley said softly. His eyes bored into Aziraphale’s with an intensity that could have set the heavens aflame (had they not already been quite close to being aflame from the holy outrage of 10 million angels).

“But right now, I’m afraid we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

Aziraphale could not possibly have cared less about those fish at that exact moment. The rest of the world, Heaven and Hell, Satan and the Antichrist, Beelzebub and Gabriel…none of it mattered right now. Not when he and Crowley were this _close._ The only things that mattered were Crowley’s eyes shining with an emotion Aziraphale had never seen there before, the angular planes of his face, his enticing lips parted slightly, his cool breath on Aziraphale’s cheek, and his hand, which had moved from under Aziraphale’s chin to gently cup his cheek. Crowley still seemed to be glowing faintly, and Aziraphale found that he couldn’t look at his face for too long without having to look away. It was like trying to look at the sky on a very bright day.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale whispered, desperation leaking into his voice.

“We’ll have time later, angel.”

“You don’t know that,” Aziraphale said, astonished to hear how unsteady his voice sounded.

“We just have to get through them coming for us. Then we can talk and figure things out and…” Crowley’s thumb brushed Aziraphale’s cheek as he let his sentence trail off.

Lust is quite off-limits to angels so Aziraphale didn’t immediately recognize the feeling roaring to life inside him. He had never had cause to feel it before. Certainly there had been many things he had desired during his 6,000 years on earth. Crowley was high on that list. But this feeling was different than a desire to surround himself with old books and comfortable furniture and good food. This was a _need_. His breathing was speeding up and a strange, clenched sort of sensation was taking root in his stomach. He felt a pleasant throbbing in his cock[5]. Eventually, Aziraphale got the picture. And despite his insistence that they didn’t have time for this, Aziraphale noticed a distinct bulge growing in Crowley’s trousers. For the first time in his considerably long life, Aziraphale thought falling would be worth it if this feeling was the tradeoff.

He leaned forward, putting his scotch on the floor, far enough away that it wouldn’t get kicked over accidentally. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to Crowley, shifting his body so that they were facing each other.

“Are you…quite sure…it can’t wait?” Aziraphale asked. Practically nose-to-nose, Crowley and Aziraphale locked eyes. Like deer in headlights, neither of them could look away or move a muscle, weighing the others’ reaction, waiting for permission. Then Crowley glanced down at Aziraphale’s lips for an instant—just an instant, but it was enough. The wall of Aziraphale’s self-restraint broke free and he leaned forward and closed the distance between them. Just before their lips touched, he stopped. He looked into Crowley’s eyes. He was unable to focus on them at the close distance, but he wanted to check all the same that this is what Crowley wanted.

“Well, don’t stop now, angel,” Crowley hissed, looking once more from Aziraphale’s lips to his eyes. Aziraphale didn’t need to be told twice. He pressed his lips to Crowley’s lightly at first, then more firmly upon hearing Crowley’s sharp intake of breath. Aziraphale ran his thumb over Crowley’s sharp cheekbones. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with his other hand, but it felt very natural to place it on Crowley’s arm, caressing that as well. Crowley’s hand slipped from Aziraphale’s cheek and moved to grab his neck, drawing the angel to him and deepening the kiss. Crowley’s tongue swiped across Aziraphale’s lips and it seemed right to open his mouth and meet Crowley’s tongue with his.

It was strange and exciting and wonderful. Aziraphale had never kissed anyone like this before. Humans held no attraction for him and the other angels certainly didn’t interest him. He couldn’t ever remember being _this_ aware of his body. Every nerve ending felt like it had been touched with a live wire. His skin burned wherever Crowley touched him. His stomach was doing backflips as it tried to adjust to a veritable cocktail of emotion: anxiety over what would happen next, exhilaration, joy, and pure unbridled lust.

For a few precious moments, Aziraphale allowed himself to melt against Crowley, letting Crowley snake one arm around his waist and pull him taut against his body. Aziraphale could feel the hard length of him through his jeans and he ached to touch him. He couldn’t get close enough fast enough. All soft curves and sharp edges, they somehow still managed to fit together. Crowley was everywhere, hands in his hair, on his face, trailing down his spine, lightly brushing up his thigh. Any thoughts of plans to outsmart their enemies were set aside as Aziraphale tried to touch as much of Crowley as possible. A floodgate had been opened, a torrent released. It seemed to Aziraphale that there could be no stopping it. His hand drifted downward. Surprised at his own boldness, Aziraphale cupped his palm against the growing hardness in Crowley’s pants. The demon hissed with pleasure, his hips grinding up against Aziraphale’s hand in spite of himself.

“Wait, angel, angel,” Crowley pulled back with a huge effort. He leaned his forehead against Aziraphale’s, trying to catch his breath. Aziraphale looked at him with a question in his eyes, also breathing heavily. His hands stilled, clutching at the front of Crowley’s jacket. Crowley placed his hands over Aziraphale’s, trying to think clearly despite the voice in his head that was telling him to tear Aziraphale’s clothes off and kiss every inch of his angelic body.

“I want this. I want you. I do. I’m tired of pretending I don’t. But I won’t feel calm until you’re in a body where they can’t hurt you,” Crowley’s already ragged voice broke on the word “hurt.” He was wrenched back to the bookshop as it burned, remembering the panic that had enveloped him as he searched desperately for Aziraphale, the crushing weight of despair that had fallen over him when he thought that Aziraphale was gone forever.

“Please,” he begged.

Aziraphale looked at him with a concentration that Crowley had only seen on his face when the angel was reading an exciting book. He felt a shimmer of resolution from Aziraphale. His usual fidgeting had ceased for once. Aziraphale raised his hand, palm out toward Crowley and Crowley grabbed at it without hesitation.

Closing his eyes, Crowley slipped out of his body as easily as slipping out of a coat. He sensed Aziraphale’s soul do the same. Being disembodied was an uncomfortable experience. He felt a nagging pull to be encased in blood, bone, and muscle again. Aziraphale’s empty body called to him like a siren and he obeyed, settling into Aziraphale’s body with a sigh that was quickly choked off. For a few moments he was quite incapable of drawing breath, so overpowering were the emotions Aziraphale’s body was currently experiencing. The splendor of it nearly knocked him over. He was sure that at any second, it would consume him and destroy him as thoroughly as holy water would. It was a wave, a tsunami that it did no good to resist. Instead of fighting it, Crowley let himself be swept away. Miraculously, he remained whole.

Eventually, he found he could breathe again as he got used to the all-encompassing love filling Aziraphale’s body. He should have prepared for it; angels were beings of love, after all. He had been an angel once. He remembered Heaven quite clearly, couldn’t keep it from his mind sometimes, late at night when the world was dark and quiet. He remembered the love that permeated the very air in Heaven. He remembered the transcendent, almost _compulsory_ love he had had for everything She created.

But nothing could have prepared him for this onslaught. As he adjusted, nuances became apparent. He noticed different flavors of love. There was the bright, ethereal, angelic love Aziraphale had for all living creatures. There was the fondness he held for things like bowties and sushi and sleight-of-hand magic tricks. But the strongest feelings, the ones that had nearly crushed him under their power, were his feelings for Crowley. They were like nothing Crowley had ever felt in his time as an angel or a demon.

Crowley realized his eyes were squeezed shut and he forced them open. He found himself staring at his own face, his eyes closed and his features contorted with discomfort. He watched as his own shoulders rolled, his fingers flexed, and his face gradually relaxed.

“Nice, um, place you got here,” Crowley said. Aziraphale laughed. 

“You as well. You were right. It’s not so bad,” Crowley heard his own voice say, “Once you get used to it.” Crowley chuckled and the sound that came out was Aziraphale’s familiar laugh. 

Outside the window, the sun was starting to rise. The first day of the rest of their lives had arrived.

[1] Or tormenting, if you were Crowley.

[2] Just what that thigh would feel like under his hands was what Aziraphale had been lost in thought over.

[3] Aziraphale didn’t really think they were all that fashionable. Crowley had repeatedly told him that they were and that the angel was just a few decades behind the times. He still couldn’t see what was so bad about tartan.

[4] They are also not prone to falling in love with demons, but there you go.

[5]He had Made an Effort about the time bathhouses had become popular, mostly just to fit in. This was its first time out to sea, as it were. Crowley had never been a fan of bathhouses and hadn’t bothered manifesting a cock until the 14th century when codpieces came into fashion.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Yelp review in the footnotes of this chapter was used with permission from Tumblr user itsclydebitches.

“Right, so, everything has to appear normal,” Crowley said in Aziraphale’s voice, “They can’t know we switched. You have to act like me, talk like me, walk like me.”

They had both gotten over the initial discomfort at being in a new body and had now begun to plan. Aziraphale smiled, picturing Crowley’s ridiculously sexy strut.

“Quite lucky we’ve spent so much time together.”

“We’ll go about our business until they come for us. And if all goes well, meet in St. James’s park…afterward?”

Aziraphale nodded Crowley’s head, looking out the window as London woke up and started to go about its Sunday morning business. He picked up the glass of scotch from the floor and took a nervous gulp. The prospect of lying straight to the Lords of Hell’s faces had him sweating.

Crowley watched him, thinking about what Aziraphale would be doing on a normal Sunday morning. Puttering around his bookshop most likely, enjoying his precious books and trying to get people not to buy anything.[1] What would he be doing if the bookshop were no longer there? Where would he…

“Angel?” Crowley said suddenly, the word sounding strange coming from Aziraphale’s mouth, “I’ve had a thought. Those cars back on the M25. And the bit on the news about the mass hysteria…It seems like everything’s gone back to how it was before. Do you suppose that includes the book shop?” Aziraphale’s glass of scotch slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor with a loud crash. Shards of glass tinkled across the floor and droplets of scotch spattered their shoes. He sat up straight, all other thoughts wiped from his head.

“You’re right! The bookshop! If everything’s back how it was—I have to go see!” He stood up, hope billowing inside his chest.

“What, right now?” Crowley said, sitting up and propping himself up with one hand on his thigh, a frantic look in his eyes. “Aziraphale, remember what your face looks like now. It might look suspicious if _I_ showed up at the bookshop without you. I think you should stay here. Lurk a bit. I’ll go check out the bookshop and we can meet at St. James’s in a few hours, how’s that?”

Aziraphale deflated a bit, his sudden jovial smile (which looked quite out of place on Crowley’s face) sliding into a disappointed grimace.

“You’re right. You’re right, of course. I, um…I’ll just…stay here and…” Aziraphale looked helplessly around the flat, searching for something to do.

“Tell you what, my plants need watering.[2] Why don’t you tend to them, and I’ll go check on your bookshop,” Crowley said, standing up from the couch and stretching his arms.

“Oh! Yes, quite so. Yes, um,” Aziraphale said, standing up as well. They stood awkwardly for a minute, Aziraphale wringing his hands in front of him. What was the proper method of farewell for them now? Normally, they parted ways without touching at all. Now the thought of walking away from Aziraphale (possibly for the last time if things didn’t go their way) without holding him, or kissing him was unthinkable.

Before he could overthink it too much, Crowley covered the distance between them and took Aziraphale into his arms. It was a bit strange to be embracing his own body, but it didn’t bother him enough to make him let go. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s shoulders and looked down at him.

“I’ll see you soon, alright?” Crowley muttered. He leaned up and placed a sweet kiss onto the angel’s lips. Before he could be tempted to stay and remain kissing Aziraphale for the rest of the morning, he spun on his heel and left the flat.

* * *

The sun had not yet fully risen when Crowley reached the bookshop a few minutes later. There was a part of him that had expected to find it still smoldering, little more than a pile of ash and rubble but it wasn’t. It was there, perfect as ever and Crowley stood in the middle of the street, his eyes racing to memorize every detail of the façade. Cars swerved around him and pedestrians walking by stared at him, wondering if he needed help. No one but Crowley seemed to remember that yesterday the bookshop had been little more than a burnt-out husk.

He remembered the first time he had set foot in it, way back in the 1790s. He had dropped by the first week it opened with flowers as a congratulatory present. Sunflowers tied together with a white ribbon if he recalled correctly. Aziraphale’s voice echoed back to him through the centuries.

_“Flowers? For me?” Aziraphale had said, clearly quite surprised. He accepted the bouquet from Crowley with a delighted expression. Like a child on Christmas morning._

_“Yeah, I, um…I’m sorry, I didn’t know what kind you liked,” Crowley had said, making a vague gesture with his hand. He suddenly felt very self-conscious and wished he’d just gotten the angel a nice bottle of wine or something._

_“Sunflowers are my favorite, actually, so well done.” Aziraphale had put them in a vase and set them on a desk by the front window. Despite having been open for less than a week, the bookshop already had a distinct aura of clutter and mystery, a sense that you would never be able to find the specific book you were looking for among the endless stacks, but you wouldn’t mind spending the entire day looking anyway. Aziraphale had enthusiastically shown him several tomes he was very proud to have acquired and Crowley had listened with indulgent affection. They had opened a bottle of wine (or five) and sat and talked for hours._

A car honked its horn and passed within inches of him, drawing him back to the present. It wouldn’t do to go and get discorporated now, so Crowley ventured into the bookshop, unlocking the door with a snap of his fingers. He slowly moved through the rooms, looking for anything out of place. Aziraphale would want to know if anything at all was missing or changed. It was lucky that Crowley had spent so much time over the years. He knew the bookshop better than he knew his own flat. He knew where each book was kept, knew the history of each knick-knack.

It was all untouched, of course, everything in the state of comfortable chaos Aziraphale kept it in. But Crowley couldn’t stop the images of destruction that inundated his mind. Whenever he blinked, he saw flames rising dangerously over his head. A delicate ballet of dust motes floated through the rays of sunlight that spilled in through the windows. It reminded him of burning bits of paper swirling through the air, carried heavenward by thick black smoke. He took a deep breath of the clean air, remembering how the smoke had choked him when he had tried to inhale. Windows which only yesterday had been shattered by jets of water from the firehoses were now unbroken and clear. He could see people walking by the shop on the other side of them. He did a double-take. Under the window, something _was_ out of place. A stack of comics popular with young boys was sitting on the shelf.

“Those are new,” Crowley murmured to himself. Aziraphale certainly hadn’t bought them. Adam Young must have wanted to expand Aziraphale’s horizons a bit.

He was about to leave to go meet Aziraphale at the park when he thought he might as well check on the upstairs flat as well. He had never actually been up there, so he wouldn’t know if anything was changed. It was just an excuse to assuage his curiosity about the angel’s private life. He manoeuvred through the cramped hallways and stole up the staircase at the back of the shop. Standing before the door, he took a deep breath. He twisted the knob and entered. The flat was similar to his bookshop. Dark, cluttered, piles of books stacked on every available surface. It smelled dusty, but there was a hint of the cologne the angel always wore.

Crowley moved through the rooms until he got to the bedroom, where he froze. It was fairly unremarkable, as bedrooms go. There was a dresser, a large bed draped with comfortable, worn-in quilts, and an old wooden writing desk loaded with papers. But what had frozen Crowley in his tracks was what sat on a small end table next to the bed, basking in the morning sunlight. A glass vase. A bouquet of sunflowers with a white ribbon tied around the stems. He slowly walked over and rubbed one of the glossy petals between his fingers. They were real and somehow still alive. Aziraphale must have performed a miracle to make sure they would never wilt.

Crowley’s chest suddenly felt tight and he was hit with a rush of affection. He wanted nothing more than to run from the bookshop and keep on running until he was with his sweet, sentimental angel again. He turned and headed for the door.

* * *

After seeing to the plants[3], Aziraphale found he couldn’t sit still. He tidied up, mending the glass he had broken, washing and putting away the other. He drifted through the other rooms of Crowley’s flat. All the rooms were decorated similarly and had an empty, unlived-in sort of feeling, almost more like a museum than a home. There were statues and huge vases placed along the walls at regular intervals. He paused to inspect a rather interesting statue of what appeared to be two angels fighting. A blush crept up his cheeks as he realized that both angels were nude and fighting appeared to be the last thing on their minds. In another room, he spied a statue of a large bird, a swan perhaps, taking flight. It looked oddly familiar and Aziraphale studied it until a memory clawed its way out of his brain. He remembered seeing this statue between the two Nazi spies that had threatened him in the church in 1941. Had Crowley stolen the statue from the church or simply recreated it? He seemed to remember it surviving the blast. He made a mental note to ask Crowley about it later.

Feeling a little wicked, Aziraphale peeked into Crowley’s bedroom. A large bed dominated the space, although judging from the layer of dust sitting on the black and silver bedspread, it didn’t see much use. He had some ideas about how he and Crowley could use it, once everything was over and done with and they could just be together.

There was a full-length floor mirror in the corner and Aziraphale moved slowly to step in front of it. Crowley’s face stared back at him, looking timid and curious. He tilted his head to the left and leaned close to see Crowley’s snake tattoo. He reached a hand out toward the mirror and the reflection copied him. His eyes traced down Crowley’s long, slender limbs and over his narrow chest. The top few buttons of Crowley’s shirt were undone and he could see a light sprinkle of chest hair peeking out. The longer he looked, the faster his heart beat and the more he wished Crowley were here right now. Aziraphale brought a hand to his chest and lightly ran his fingers over the exposed skin, noting which parts were especially sensitive. He stood there for a few minutes, exploring Crowley’s body, though being careful not to let his hands drift below the belt. He wanted the first time he really took in this body to be with Crowley in it. Eventually, he was able to tear himself away from the mirror and venture back into the living room.

He straightened the stack of papers on Crowley’s desk. As he did, his eyes were drawn to the old answering machine. He’d always thought of Crowley as someone who was very “with the times” and the presence of this obsolete piece of technology in an otherwise sleek and futuristic room gave him pause. He remembered leaving many messages for Crowley over the years, calling him to cover a blessing, or inviting him out for lunch. Feeling a bit guilty about snooping, but unable to contain his curiosity, Aziraphale fiddled with the knob, switching it to “playback.” A computerized voice declared, “First saved message.” Aziraphale was astonished to hear his voice coming from the answering machine.

“Hello, Crowley? It’s me. Aziraphale, I mean. Erm, just calling to let you know the temptation in Glasgow went well, all good on my end. All bad, I mean. Well—you know what I mean. Anyway, call me back, I should be at the bookshop the rest of the day…”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. He remembered leaving that message, nearly 30 years ago. Crowley hadn’t deleted it? Not even after all this time?

“Next saved message,” the computerized voice chimed.

“Hello, Crowley, it’s Aziraphale. Would you remind me of the name of that book you recommended the other day?[4] For someone who really loves books, you’d think I could remember a title for more than a few seconds. Lose my own head next…”

Aziraphale dropped into the chair at the desk. The answering machine droned on through dozens of messages, all from Aziraphale, spanning three decades. Crowley had kept every one. The warm feeling was back and suddenly he couldn’t stay cooped up in the flat for another second. Stroking the plants’ leaves fondly as he walked by, he headed for the door to go meet Crowley at the park.

[1] His aggressive tactics had earned him quite a few negative comments on Yelp. One particularly nasty review written by Marina G. of London read: “Pretty sure this guy wants a library, not a bookshop. I mean, he’s nice and all when you first come in, but trying to actually _buy_ a book? Good fucking luck. He’s too busy to see you right now (for the record, he’s super bad at pretending to be busy). Or claims that this book has already been put on reserve (then why wasn’t it in the reserve pile…?). Or the price suddenly jumped an obscene amount. Or he just straight up hems and haws until you get fed up and leave. I watched him pull a novel straight out of a woman’s hands once when she claimed that price was no object and she wouldn’t be leaving the store until she’d purchased it. You’d think she was trying to kidnap one of the guy’s kids!”

[2] The plants had never been watered by anyone but Crowley, and they were in for a pleasant surprise. In just a few minutes, all of Crowley’s meticulously cultivated intimidation would be undone by Aziraphale stepping one foot into the plant room, putting a hand over his heart and exclaiming, “My, you _beauties!”_

[3] He planned to give Crowley a stern talking-to about how he treated the plants. The poor things had trembled like so many small dogs when they felt him coming and fear seemed to fill the small room where the plants were kept. He had whispered encouragement and praise to them, hoping to start making up for Crowley’s own personal reign of terror.

[4] It was “Here On Earth” by Alice Hoffman. And yes, Crowley had heard about it from Oprah’s book club, shut up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is post-canon. I am skipping the scenes in Heaven and Hell and St. James' Park on purpose. They've already been written and filmed so there's no need for me to re-write them.

The next few hours were exceedingly stressful for both of them. Kidnapped by each other’s bosses, intimidated and threatened, and finally forced to step into something that should have destroyed them, but didn’t. By the time it was over, and they were back in their own bodies toasting at the Ritz, the two were exhausted. Though they both were aching for sleep, they stayed talking at the Ritz for hours. They talked about everything except the world ending, it seemed like. Books and films, places they had been and things they had seen in their 6,000 years on Earth. All the fascinating little inventions humans thought up. The hijinks they’d gotten up to. Aziraphale had never laughed so much or so hard. He was sure they were disturbing the other diners, but he didn’t care. The Apocalypse had been avoided. Heaven and Hell had been tricked and weren’t going to bother them for a long time. Happiness coursed through his veins like a drug, leaving him dizzy. Even Crowley with his perpetual doom and gloom couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

The dining room slowly emptied around them. Soon the only light was from the chandeliers overhead and the candle flickering on their table. Aziraphale was not quite sure how or when it happened, but eventually he looked down and found that his hand and Crowley’s were intertwined.[1] Crowley smiled at him, exultant, and Aziraphale thought his heart would burst from joy. Crowley threw down a few large bills on the table and stood up.

“Come on, angel,” he said, tugging Aziraphale to his feet and leading him from the restaurant. They stepped out into the evening air. Everything was the same as it had been a week ago but so _different_. They were free, freer than they had ever been. No more rules. No more fear.

“Can we go to the bookshop, my dear? I still haven’t actually seen it since it burned down,” Aziraphale asked hesitantly.

“Whatever you like.”

Crowley squeezed his fingers and they set off at a leisurely pace, content just to be together. When they reached the bookshop, Aziraphale led them painstakingly through each room, making sure everything was in its proper place and nothing was damaged. Crowley made several pointed comments about the late hour but the angel seemed determined to account for every book he owned.

“Aziraphale, I told you, I already checked and nothing’s missing,” Crowley whined from where he was slumped on a chintz-covered chair. His eyes had been falling closed without his permission for the past ten minutes[2].

“I know, I know, I just…I needed to see for myself,” Aziraphale answered, inspecting a bookshelf closely.

Crowley dragged a hand down his face, stood up and slouched over to Aziraphale. He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale from behind. Aziraphale dropped his hand from the spine of the book he had been perusing and let it cover Crowley’s. Crowley pressed his lips lightly onto the angel’s neck, his head swimming as he inhaled the angel’s cologne. Bliss. Aziraphale turned to face him, wrapping his arms around his neck and looking up at him.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m getting carried away. It’s just…losing something that means that much to you, then getting it back…you want to make sure it’s really there. That…it’s not going to disappear again.”

Crowley gave him a small half-smile and stroked his hair. “I know the feeling. Now, will you _please_ take your poor, exhausted demon to bed?” Aziraphale smiled beatifically and nodded.

“Are you really mine?” Aziraphale asked as they ambled up the stairs. Crowley had one arm slung across Aziraphale’s shoulders, letting the angel support most of his weight. Aziraphale’s arm wrapped around Crowley’s waist, pulling him close and half-lifting him onto the upstairs landing.

“For as long as you’ll have me,” Crowley murmured back. They tumbled onto Aziraphale’s bed and fell asleep almost immediately, wrapped in each other’s arms.

* * *

When Crowley awoke, he wasn’t immediately certain where he was. He hadn’t felt the need to sleep for a few years and was understandably disoriented. The first thing he saw was the sunflowers on the end table. His sunglasses were folded carefully next to the vase. Aziraphale must have taken them off while Crowley slept. He blinked blearily and looked around. The other side of the bed was empty, the sheets mussed. The sun was coming in through the window at an odd angle. He looked around for a clock and saw they had slept through the night and most of the day.

“Aziraphale?” he called out, fearing for a few seconds that the angel had left him again. He needn’t have worried.

“Yes, yes, I’m here!” came an answer from the kitchen. Crowley immediately felt ashamed for even thinking that Aziraphale would disappear on him now. He sniffed at the air. The angel was _cooking_. Fresh crepes, bacon, and eggs by the smell of it. Crowley’s mouth watered. The bedroom door swung open and Aziraphale bustled in with two plates loaded with food and two cups of tea on a tray. He set the tray on the bed and scooted onto the bed beside Crowley, who smiled indulgently at him.

“What’s all this?”

“I was feeling a bit peckish.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and chuckled. “I suppose this is easier than going all the way to France.”

“Yes, that was the idea. You know, I learned how to cook crepes myself right after that[3]. But I do think we should go back to Paris someday. Lovely city. At least, when—”

“When they’re not chopping heads off, yeah.”

They devoured their breakfast (although it was well past teatime) and then sank back against the headboard, basking in each other’s company. Looking at the angel lying blissful and contented beside him, Crowley felt the same fire from two nights before spark in his muscles.

“So,” Crowley started, a mischievous look in his eyes, “You kept the flowers.” Aziraphale’s cheeks turned pink. He looked down at the bedspread which he had bunched up in his hands, then looked straight into Crowley’s slitted, yellow eyes.

“You kept the messages.”

The dam broke. Crowley couldn’t contain himself any longer. He reached for Aziraphale faster than the strike of a snake. Aziraphale let out a surprised, “Oh!” as he was pulled into the demon’s arms. Aziraphale shifted around, moving to straddle Crowley. The plates and the tray crashed to the floor but neither angel nor demon paid it any attention. Their lips crushed together, desperate and hungry. A moan escaped Crowley’s lips and he ran his tongue over Aziraphale’s bottom lip. Aziraphale’s mouth opened unquestioningly, his tongue dancing out to meet Crowley’s. He could feel Crowley’s stubble scraping his chin, leaving a dull burn behind. It sent shivers down his spine. Aziraphale couldn’t seem to loosen his grip on Crowley’s arms. With shaking hands, Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s collar, carefully undoing his bowtie and pulling it off. He kicked off his shoes, and they hit the floor with a dull thud. Aziraphale got the hint and started removing Crowley’s clothes as well. He frantically undid the buttons on Crowley’s shirt, pushing the sleeves down his arms and throwing the shirt to the side.

He had meant to keep going but the sight of Crowley shirtless, chest heaving, staring up at him with such a tender look in his eyes made him pause.

“What a magnificent creature you are,” he said, his eyes raking hungrily over Crowley’s bare chest. He lightly ran one finger down the side of Crowley’s neck, feeling his pulse jump through the delicate skin on his throat. He dragged his finger over the smooth skin, thinking that 6,000 more years spent touching him wouldn’t be enough. Crowley reached up and cupped Aziraphale’s jaw, stroking his cheek lightly. His yellow eyes pierced into Aziraphale’s.

“I love you, Aziraphale,” he said and no words the angel had ever heard rang as true. The feeling he now recognized as love was rolling off Crowley in waves and Aziraphale couldn’t have doubted it if he tried. He leaned down to press his lips to Crowley’s, trying to convey through a single kiss how passionately he felt the same. Just to make sure Crowley got the message, Aziraphale whispered, “I love you, too.” When he pulled back to look at Crowley’s face, he felt a rush of adrenaline. The expression on his face was one of sublime joy and triumph. Happiness radiated out of him. For the first time, Aziraphale could imagine Crowley as he had been before he fell; formidable, resplendent, and absolutely awe-inspiring. He stared at Crowley in wonder.

The rest of their clothes were quickly removed and they fell against each other, shuddering with pleasure at the feeling of their bare skin pressed together. Once more, Aziraphale noticed the strange sensation of touching Crowley’s cool skin and feeling heat instead. With a groan, Crowley flipped them. Aziraphale’s back was suddenly pressed into the pillows and Crowley hovered above him.

“What do you want right now, angel? Whatever you want, you can have it.”

Aziraphale’s head was spinning, but he managed to beg, “Touch me. I want you to touch me.”

“Where?”

By way of an answer, Aziraphale tilted his hips up to meet Crowley’s. Their cocks ground against each other and Crowley seized Aziraphale’s shoulder, his nails digging in while he rode out the sensation. He buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there. One of his hands slowly wandered lower and brushed along Aziraphale’s length with a feather-light touch.

“ _Crowley!_ ” Aziraphale panted. Hearing Aziraphale say his name like that made the fire raging inside Crowley blaze twice as hot. His cock ached to be touched, but he could wait.

“Yes, angel?”

Aziraphale licked his lips and stared into Crowley’s eyes. “ _More.”_

Crowley was only too happy to oblige. He wrapped his fingers around Aziraphale’s firm cock and began to stroke it. Aziraphale’s eyes closed and his head fell back on the pillows. He had one hand fisted in Crowley’s hair, the other grasping desperately at the bedsheets. Aziraphale’s hips thrust up in time with Crowley’s stroking and the angel’s breathing had become uneven. Crowley planted a trail of quick kisses onto Aziraphale’s neck, down his collarbones, across his stomach, slithering down his body and arranging himself between his gorgeous white thighs. The angel’s skin was like silk beneath his fingers. Crowley was tempted to run his cheek across it. He gripped Aziraphale’s cock in one hand and slowly brought the head to his lips. He placed a soft kiss right on the tip, licking away a salty drop of precum. Aziraphale cried out, thrashing his head from side to side and bringing one his hands up to cover his mouth. Crowley tugged the angel’s hand away and wound their fingers together.

“Make as much noise as you want. I want to hear you,” Crowley said, carefully running his lips down the side of Aziraphale’s cock, barely touching it. He kept eye contact with Aziraphale as he did so. Crowley took the tip of Aziraphale’s cock into his mouth and the angel tried to strangle a moan by biting his lip, but utterly failed to contain it. Encouraged, Crowley swirled his tongue around the tip and then began to suck in earnest. Aziraphale’s fingers clenched around his and he started to hyperventilate. Crowley’s mouth was hot, almost too hot, and the most wonderful thing he had ever felt. The pressure from his lips, the smooth feeling of the inside of his cheeks, his tongue that seemed to wrap all the way around him, his jaw practically unhinging as he took Aziraphale all the way to the back of his throat...the feelings were almost too much to handle. He yelped slightly when he felt Crowley press a finger gently against his arse. Crowley’s hand stilled and he glanced at Aziraphale with his eyebrows raised, wondering if he had gone too far.

“Too much?”

“On the contrary,” Aziraphale answered, swallowing hard, “That feels amazing.” With a tiny miracle that Crowley certainly hadn’t performed, his fingers were suddenly coated in a slippery substance and Aziraphale was grinding his hips down on Crowley’s fingers. Crowley slipped one finger inside him, feeling his cock twitch as he did so. He slowly pushed his finger in deeper, spurred on by Aziraphale’s increased breathing and his moans that were growing steadily louder. He crooked his finger around to rest against Aziraphale’s prostate. As far as Crowley was concerned, the look on Aziraphale’s face as he did justified the creation of the entire universe. Crowley slipped his mouth around Aziraphale’s cock once more and Aziraphale was nearly undone from the intense pleasure. Waves of sensation rolled out from his center, curling his toes and making him clench his teeth to keep from coming on the spot. Crowley sensed he was getting close and slowed his sucking, trailing off into sloppy kisses pressed along Aziraphale’s shaft. He slipped another finger inside of the angel, then another, filling him up and carefully working him open. Aziraphale closed his eyes, trying to get used to the feeling of being so _full_. It was exquisite and yet not quite enough. He wanted more.

“That’s enough,” Aziraphale gasped, “I need you, Crowley. _Please._ ”

“You have me, angel,” Crowley replied, “Let me know if I go too fast.”

He withdrew his fingers and Aziraphale winced at the sudden emptiness. Crowley miracled more of the slick lube all over his cock and his eyes darted up to meet Aziraphale’s, making sure that was what he wanted. Aziraphale gave his head a small nod, his eyes falling closed. Crowley crawled out from between Aziraphale’s legs so he could kiss the angel. He lowered his body, pressing his cock into Aziraphale’s stomach and groaning from the pleasure the action created. Aziraphale spread his legs and wrapped them around Crowley’s back. Crowley scooted down just enough to orient the tip of his cock at Aziraphale’s entrance, then slowly pushed into him. His hips stilled as both of them were nearly undone by the sensation. They grabbed each other’s arms and held on for dear life. Aziraphale’s neatly trimmed nails dug into the meat of Crowley’s upper arms.

Crowley’s world shrunk; everything he had used to think was important fell away until they were the only two things in existence. Crowley was holding the world in his arms and it was more than enough. Slowly, so slowly, Crowley began to roll his hips against Aziraphale’s, sliding in a little further with each thrust until Aziraphale covered him to the hilt. They stayed like that for so long that neither one of them could have said how much time passed, savoring the feelings and drinking each other in. Eventually, Crowley had to move. He pulled out slightly, then drove back in, starting a rhythm that Aziraphale matched eagerly. Their hips crashed together over and over and Crowley moved his hand from grasping Aziraphale’s arm to grasp the angel’s cock firmly. Crowley stroked him in time with his thrusts and Aziraphale gasped and moaned. The tension that had been building in him threatened to peak. Aziraphale’s hands moved to grip the tops of Crowley’s taut thighs, pulling him even closer. They looked into each other’s eyes, sweat beading on their brows.

“Oh, God, Crowley…” Aziraphale moaned, knowing he wasn’t going to last much longer. Crowley raced towards his own orgasm, his hips thrusting faster. It finally ripped through him and he buried himself as deeply as he could in Aziraphale, just as Aziraphale found his own release. They burned together, somehow emerging unscathed on the other side. Totally spent, they collapsed onto the bed, shaking and pulling in deep, heaving breaths. They recovered for a few minutes, arms and legs still intertwined.

“Nice effort,” Crowley purred, giving Aziraphale’s groin a pointed glance. He turned to his side and curled up against Aziraphale. Aziraphale chuckled, giving Crowley’s temple a quick kiss.

“You as well. I’m just glad I finally get to use it! Glad it’s no longer a _wasted effort_.”

Crowley groaned and covered his eyes with a hand. When he looked at the angel, he was smiling a rather devilish little grin, looking quite pleased with himself.

“That was a terrible joke. I don’t think I can forgive you for that one,” Crowley said in a teasing tone.

“Hmm,” the angel hummed, pulling Crowley against him, “perhaps there’s some way I can earn your forgiveness?”

“You can try. It might take a while.”

“Luckily, we’ve got plenty of time,” Aziraphale whispered into Crowley’s ear, smirking at the goosebumps that rose on the demon’s skin. He took Crowley’s face in his hands and pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to his lips. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and the pair fell back into their own personal slice of Heaven.

[1] A waiter who had been serving them during their visits for a few years saw this and promptly freaked out. He raced back to the kitchen and screeched at the other staff members, “They’re holding hands!” Several people had to pull out their wallets and pay up.

[2] Strictly speaking, neither demons nor angels need sleep, but it is recommended in some situations. After saving the world and avoiding certain destruction, for instance.

[3] Crowley had learned how to make them as well, hoping to avoid another almost-beheading.

  1. In a large mixing bowl, whisk together 1 cup all-purpose flour and 2 eggs. Gradually add in ½ cup milk and ½ cup water, stirring to combine. Add ¼ tsp. salt, 1 tbsp. sugar, and 2 tbsp butter, melted; beat until smooth.
  2. Heat a lightly oiled frying pan over medium high heat. Pour the batter onto the pan, using approximately 1/4 cup for each crepe. Tilt the pan with a circular motion so that the batter coats the surface evenly.
  3. Cook the crepe for about 2 minutes, until the bottom is light brown. Loosen with a spatula, turn and cook the other side. Serve hot.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


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